


and if you still care (say yeah, yeah, yeah)

by Avelys, exohousewarming



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 14:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelys/pseuds/Avelys, https://archiveofourown.org/users/exohousewarming/pseuds/exohousewarming
Summary: Prompt number:163Side Pairings (if any):Warnings:languageWord Count:~ 5.8kSummary:alternatively "Sehun Saves a Marriage".





	and if you still care (say yeah, yeah, yeah)

**Author's Note:**

> **Author Note:** significantly downsized from my outline, but I just didn't write fast enough, I'm sorry. I hope this is still satisfactory.

When Junmyeon comes home from work, he is expecting maybe a home-cooked meal. He’s expecting maybe two empty glasses, and a bottle of aged wine. He’s expecting maybe warm log fires, and annoying reminders about his unpaid bills.

He doesn’t find any of these. Instead, he finds the divorce papers.

“What are these?” His voice is shrill and tinny in his ears. He grabs the papers and holds them up against the light. His eyes flicker from line to line, as though he can magically will them to change into something that they aren’t.

Yifan sits at their dining table calmly, stirring a small cup of coffee. He keeps his eyes trained on the screen of his laptop—where there appears to be an email of some kind—and doesn’t even bother sending a glance Junmyeon’s way. “It’s exactly what it looks like,” he says, and his voice is so calm, so _cold_ that it sends a shiver coursing through Junmyeon’s spine.

His husband sounds so… so collected. Like it doesn’t even _hurt_. Here Junmyeon is, feeling as if he had just had his heart cut out of his chest via a triple bypass surgery without general anesthesia, and Yifan is fucking _drinking coffee and checking his emails._ Like it was any other day, or something. Like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking atomic bomb into the middle of their dining room.

And maybe it _doesn’t_ hurt Yifan. It’s a terrible thought, but it would explain so much. They haven’t seen much of each other these past few days; Junmyeon had been working overtime to fix some mistake that one of their rookie salespeople had caused. Maybe… maybe during one of those days, Yifan had sat down and thought long and hard, and had decided that he didn’t want to be with Junmyeon anymore.

It hurts just to think about it, but Junmyeon can’t stop.

His hands tremble as he folds the papers in half. He’d read them later. Even the thought of reading them now, it’s just—its’ too much to even contemplate. Junmyeon feels like maybe he would _die_ , would really die if he had to process something like that right now. His stomach is sinking so fast that it might come out of his butthole any second, and his heart is beating up a racket in his chest.

“Why?” He just barely manages to keep his voice from cracking, but he can’t quite manage the smooth cadence of normality.

If Yifan notices, he doesn’t give any signs of it. His words are merciless, unforgiving. “You know why, Junmyeon,” he says, and his voice is so flat and emotionless and _terrible_ , and Junmyeon kind of has to sit down because he feels a little bit unsteady on his feet.

But not here. He can’t, not here. It might be a little too late to salvage his dignity at this point, but if he could just get to the bedroom without tripping (or fainting onto the ground, unable to be roused without the aid of smelling salts or urea or some other strong, pungent smell) then he would consider it a win at this point.

It takes him a moment to tame his hands, but they are mostly still as they transfer the divorce papers into his briefcase. “I’ll have Baekhyun look over them tomorrow,” he says, deliberately mentioning his lawyer so that Yifan will know Junmyeon is going to honor his wishes. He doesn’t want this divorce, but if his husband doesn’t want to stay in a marriage with him any longer, then he isn’t going to stand into the way.

 _If you love something, let it go._ Was that right? Well, whoever it was that came up with that particular adage could go and fuck themselves with a large cactus, because this shit was fucking painful.

Yifan closes his eyes for a moment, but when he opens them, they are just as clear and dry as ever.

“I think that would be best,” he says.

And any last bit of hope that Junmyeon has been clinging to shatters, because there’s really nothing that he can say to that.

-

When Junmyeon shuts the door, Yifan drops the façade he’s been holding up the entire time, and lets his face scrunch up in all the angst and the pain that his heart has been keeping bottled up. It wells up like the blood in a cut, like tears.

_Oh god. Oh god, it’s over, and Junmyeon didn’t even bother trying to fight it._

Yifan feels a little stupid. He feels stupid because the best thing that’s ever happened to him is ending, and it’s all because he’d been tired of feeling lonely and insecure all the fucking time.

Well, it’s not like he pulled this shit on a whim. He’d seen the end coming, and this was just preemptive action. Still, there’d been a part of him that had _hoped_ so fervently—

A sign. Just one sign. If Junmyeon had even _hinted_ that he didn’t want the divorce, Yifan would have put a kibosh on the whole thing.

But… yeah.

Really, he doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. For Junmyeon to want to stay together with someone like him? He’s a dead weight in this marriage, after all. It had been different when they’d first gotten married; they’d been younger. They’d had the stars in their eyes and the worlds in their minds, and they were going to give each other _everything_.

But, five years down the line, _everything_ amounted to different things. Junmyeon brings in the money, affords them the house, buys most of the groceries, and pays for their long vacations to Europe. But Yifan? Yifan works for a nonprofit organization, and his salary is pretty paltry. All Yifan contributes are shitty trinkets here and there to cheapen their house, and the earnest love in his heart.

He wishes that it were enough.

Because—because if it were, wouldn’t Junmyeon have fought for them, just a little? Asked a few questions, showed some sort of emotion? A little sadness wouldn’t have hurt. But he’d just come home, looked at the papers, and then calmly said he’d deliver them to his lawyer.

God, just _thinking_ about it was breaking Yifan’s heart.

He walks on over to Junmyeon’s wine cabinet, because he needs a drink, like _really_ needs one. With a humorless laugh, he notes that the Angel Champagne is missing. No doubt Junmyeon had smuggled it into his room earlier. Distantly, he wonders if that means that his husband is just as impacted by the divorce as he is, but he shakes himself free from the tenacious grasp of hopeless hope.

Yifan decides on one of the older, more expensive red wines. He’s poured himself a glass, when there’s a knock on the door.

He frowns. They aren’t expecting any visitors.

Setting the wineglass back down onto the counter, he wipes the palms of his hands onto his pants as he makes his way over to the door. Peeking through the peephole affords him a generous view of what is either a midget, or a small child.

The former is a terrifying possibility; the latter makes no sense.

He cracks the door open an inch. “Hello?” he asks cautiously.

It’s a child, a little boy with a pointy and sullen face. He doesn’t stay sullen for long, however. Once he catches sight of Yifan, he beams. “Hi!” The greeting has all the ebullience of a small sun. “I saw the light on in your apartment, and I was hoping someone would be home.”

Yifan is completely blindsided by this, and he can only gape and blink as the boy forces his way through the door.

“What are you doing out of bed so late?” Yifan blurts the first thing that comes to his mind. After a moment, he follows it up with more questions. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers? Do they know you’re here?”

The kid doesn’t answer, more preoccupied with exploring the room. After a few moments, he settles into the couch, sinking deep into the cushion with a gleeful sound.

Yifan does his best to wear a stern look. He’s been told that his face is very intimidating, but the cheeky little shit doesn’t seem to care at all. “Answer the question,” he says with a scowl.

“I don’t have parents,” the boy says at last. It isn’t spoken with the softness of tragedy, but rather the nonchalance of acceptance. This has probably been his reality his entire life.

Yifan feels a stab of pity. Managing a charity, he hears a lot of stories about orphans, and he’s even worked with a few of them. They didn’t have easy lives, and… and he’d tried to intimidate one. Remorse fills his being.

That remorse pretty much triples when, belatedly, Yifan remembers that he’s talking to a child. He feels a little abashed at being so frank with the kid, but he quickly shelves the feelings—he has to get his answers _somehow._ But still, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more considerate going forward.

He drops to his knees, so that he can look the kid in the eye. “What’s your name?” he asks, intoning each word gently. He tries to look as kind as possible, but he _knows_ what he looks like, so that’s probably a bust.

The kid looks away, and fiddles with a tassel from one of the pillows. “Sehun,” he says at last, stubbornly keeping his eyes averted.

“Sehun,” Yifan tests out the name. It’s as good a one as any for this kid, he guesses. “Sehun, how did you get here?”

 _Why_ is probably more important, considering the circumstances, but _how_ is probably going to be an easier answer to get.

“I took the school bus,” Sehun answers matter-of-factly. “The orphanage is five stops away from school, but I got off after only three.”

That’s not the truth; it’s close to midnight, and school’s probably been out for hours. Still, Yifan senses that it’s the most he’s probably going to get from Sehun for now.

He briefly considers alerting the proper channels, but quickly discards the idea. If Sehun had indeed run away from the orphanage, he’d probably been chafing under their care. A social worker, if they were to be called in, would probably just send the poor kid straight back to where he’d come from. A band-aid solution, at best.

So what should be done? Yifan can’t think. There’s just so much buzzing around in his head—divorce, despair, hurt, confusion—and his brain just isn’t up to the task of solving puzzles.

Well… it couldn’t hurt to let the kid stay, until Yifan figured out what to do with him.

“Alright, kid,” he says at last. “You wanna crash here for the night?”

Sehun’s eyes are shining like stars. “Can I call you Pops?” he asks, in lieu of a proper response.

“Pops?” Yifan echoes unsurely. Fuck maybe he’s making a mistake. It sounds like the kid’s getting a little attached.

A dramatically wistful expression overtakes Sehun’s features—though he hilariously still manages to look stiff and stoic. “I’ve never had a dad before,” he says shyly, wonderingly.

And _fuck_ if that doesn’t tug at Yifan’s heartstrings.

“Why not?” Yifan finds himself saying. “Pops it is.”

-

Junmyeon doesn't function without a cup of coffee in his system, so he pretty much walks past the kid without really registering the situation in his mind. With glazed, sleepy eyes and clumsy hands, he manages to get a cup of something (which he can only hope is caffeinated) from the Keurig.

He takes one sip. Then another. A third sip, which is promptly followed by widened eyes and a spit-take.

"Um," he says, very bewildered. There is a tiny human being sitting and swinging short legs at his counter, digging into his favorite cereal with glee. He doesn't recall having a tiny human being in his life, so the little miscreant is pretty much a mystery to him.

"Dad!" The kid seems all too happy to call him that, which, what.

Junmyeon rub his temples tiredly. "I need to sit down," he mutters to himself. The stress is probably making him hallucinate-- between his work and his pending divorce, there are way too many things going on. Maybe he's finally cracked. Maybe he'll let Jongdae finally chuck him in the loony bin, like he's always threatened to do.

Sitting down does make him feel better, if only marginally. At least he doesn't regret that bottle of Angel Champagne so badly anymore.

“I can’t believe I’m getting two dads,” the kid sighs wistfully, a dreamy look on his pointy little face.

Junmyeon stares at the kid, expression dour. "I really need to stop watching those adoption commercials," he mutters. "They're really getting to me."

The kid perks up at his words. "You're going to adopt me?" He sounds so hopeful, fuck. "Pops said that I could say with you guys, but he didn't at that you were going to adopt me!"

"Pops?" Junmyeon echoes unsurely, not really following.

Nodding excitedly, the kid raises one arm up really high. "The nice, tall man with the mean face," he says seriously.

That... sounds suspiciously like Yifan.

"Let me get this straight,” Junmyeon says, because he’s confused as fuck, and would like to have at least some of this shit cleared up. “Yifan… he let you in, and told you that you could stay?” Yifan wasn’t that stupid, there was no way. Housing a runaway kid was a one way road to the penitentiary for kidnapping.

“Yep,” the kid affirms brightly, and _goddamnit_ Junmyeon’s husband is a moron.

He sighs, because he has to break this to the kid, and sooner would probably hurt less than later. “Okay kid,” he says.

“My name is Sehun—” the kid says, but Junmyeon holds up a hand.

“I don’t care what your name is,” Junmyeon says firmly. “Because we will _not_ be adopting you.”

That dims Sehun’s smile considerably, but what can Junmyeon do? Even if he’d been _wanting_ to adopt, it just wasn’t going to be feasible in the midst of a divorce. Knowing his lawyer Baekhyun, it would be a nasty, drawn-out one too.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” Junmyeon says. “I’m going to have a _long_ talk with Yifan. And after that, we’re going to call social services to take you back to your home. I’m sorry, but Yifan and I are just not in any position to do any kind of adopting right now. You’ll probably be happier back in the orphanage.”

Junmyeon wishes he’d missed the look of horror that momentarily flashed over Sehun’s visage.

-

“What were you thinking?” Junmyeon hisses. He looks and sounds supremely irritated. “We’re getting divorced; this isn't the time to start playing Brangelina.”

Yifan’s keeps his face stoic. “I couldn't just leave him out there in the hall,” he insists defensively. “What if some creeper came along and abducted him? I couldn’t have that on my conscience.”

A quirked eyebrow. “You do realize that bringing someone else’s kid into your house makes _you_ the creeper.”

Yifan makes sure that the look he gives his soon-to-be ex-husband the most scathing, unimpressed look he can muster.

Junmyeon sighs, running a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I get your little act of charity. Come on, let's go call social services to pick him up, or something.”

No is the only thing going through Yifan’s head, and he reaches forward and grabs Junmyeon before he can make it any further than two steps.

“No,” Yifan blurts. “They— they'll put him back in the system. We can't let them do that.”

Junmyeon throws his hands up. “What do you want to do, then? We can't keep him without alerting the authorities, not unless you want to rack up some kidnapping charges.”

Yifan bites his lip, because he knows that his husband is right. Still, he's worked with kids in the system, and he's heard so many horrible stories about foster care, or worse— being forgotten in the system. He can't, in good conscience, leave little Sehun to that fate.

“Okay, what about— we call social services, but we tell them that we're adopting him.”

That has Junmyeon’s eyes bulging. “Are you crazy? In case you've forgotten, we’re getting divorced, Yifan.”

As if he could forget. The pain that runs through his chest at that is sharp and raw, like razors scraping against bare skin.

“Just for a short while, please Junmyeon,” he begs. “You know how our government feels about gay people and divorced people, let alone a gay divorcee. Just— just this one favor for me, please. If you've ever really loved me.”

Junmyeon looks stricken. He's frozen in place, as if the shock is keeping him rooted. Slowly, he nods.

“Yeah,” he says at last, but it doesn't feel like a victory for Yifan. “Yeah, okay.”

-

So the adoption part actually goes more smoothly than either of them could have ever imagined. Apparently, getting rid of a troublesome orphan ranked higher than disdainfully spiting a gay couple.

Jointly raising the kid, however, was a different story.

“Can I have Count Chocula?” Sehun hops excitedly beside them as Junmyeon pushes a shopping cart down the cereal aisle.

In truth, part of him had been relieved at the reprieve from the divorce that he didn’t really want. So, he’d thrown himself into the whole parenting thing. Junmyeon had taken two steps back from his work, and had added weekly trips to the grocery store to his itinerary.

He doesn’t know why he’s so enthusiastic about this. Maybe it has to do with how fond Yifan is of the child; maybe Junmyeon’s subconscious is hoping that, when Yifan sees how good of a co-parent Junmyeon can be, he’ll reconsider the whole divorce thing.

It’s unlikely, and he feels guilty as hell using the kid like that. But it’s worth a shot.

Plus, he gets to spend time with Yifan. Even if it’s just doing things like grocery shopping.

But are they even doing that together? Like… Yifan had run off to the produce section, and left Junmyeon to fend for himself against the relentless onslaught of their kid.

“No, you can’t,” Junmyeon says sternly, taking the cereal box and placing it back on the shelf. “That’s like, all sugar. It’s not good for you.” Instead, he picks up a box of Raisin Bran, and looks at it appraisingly. Still not an ideal choice, but it’s closer.

Sehun, having had his top choice of cereal flouted, has gone into fully-fledged pout mode. “Raisin Bran tastes like dirt,” he declares, angry. “If you buy it, I’m going to dump it down the sink!”

This is _so_ not what he signed up for.

Junmyeon pinches his nose, and gives Sehun a stern look. His face really isn’t made to look stern, but he tries anyway. “No,” he says, as authoritatively as he’s able. “You’re going to eat what I tell you to eat.”

Sehun sticks out his tongue childishly. “Make me.”

Angrily, Junmyeon taps Sehun on the nose with his finger. “You’re going to eat the Raisin Bran, god so help me,” he declares, eyes burning. “If you don’t, I’m going to send you on a bus back to the orphanage, where you can live on shitty oatmeal for the rest of your miserable little life!”

Sehun promptly bursts into tears after the tirade, and _of course_ Yifan chooses this moment to come back, arms laden with bags upon bags of fruits and vegetables.

Junmyeon watches helplessly as his husband dumps everything into the cart, before hurrying over to comfort the little menace.

“Are you okay Sehunnie?” Yifan grabs the kid into a hug, patting him consolingly.

The kid sobs dramatically. “Dad said—he said that h-he was going to send me back to the orphanage,” he wails.

Yifan shoots Junmyeon a dirty look. “Nobody is going to send you back to the orphanage,” he assures. “Your dad was just teasing you.”

Junmyeon is beginning to feel massively wronged.

Setting the kid down, Yifan marches over. He leans down, and whispers into Junmyeon’s ear.

“We’re going to have a talk about this later,” his voice is angry.

Junmyeon doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching Sehun give him the stink eye, as the little monster loads up the cart with Count Chocula.

-

“I’m telling you, I’m being set up!”

“By a five-year-old?” Yifan scoffs disbelievingly. “Couldn’t you at least come up with a _reasonable_ excuse?”

Junmyeon looks like he wants to tear his hair out. “It’s the truth!” he insists, eyes wild. “He was throwing a temper tantrum because I wouldn’t let him have Count Chocula, and he was saying that he’d dump the Raisin Bran down the sink!”

Yifan looks at his husband disbelievingly. “And so, you threatened to send him back to the orphanage?”

“He wasn’t even upset! He smirked at me, and loaded up the cart with Count Chocula!”

That gives Yifan pause. He _had_ found it rather suspicious that a health nut like Junmyeon would let their kid load up the cart with trashy cereal like Count Chocula, but he’d supposed it to be a fond indulgence of sorts.

“I’m trying,” Junmyeon adds softly. “I’m trying.”

And Yifan has to give that to him—Junmyeon is, in fact, trying. He didn’t have to agree to Yifan’s shitty scheme in the first place, and he didn’t have to stay married to him for months after the fact. But he’d known that there was simply no way for Yifan to support two people while working at a non-profit, and he’d stepped into the role of breadwinner capably.

Yifan’s heart twists. Junmyeon gives everything that he does 100%. That’s just who he is.

If only he’d put 100% into fighting for their marriage as well.

He shakes off the pain, the sadness. “I know you are,” he says at length. “I’m—I’m sorry for doubting you.”

Junmyeon laughs, and it’s a bitter sound. “Don’t worry about it.”

The tension between them isn’t quite gone, and Yifan isn’t naïve enough to think that it is. Still, he feels like the situation has been somewhat defused. And, for right now, he’s content to sort of leave it at that.

-

If buying groceries for Sehun was horrible, putting him to bed was a fucking _nightmare_.

He’s tried, heaven knows he’s tried. But after the fifth or sixth chorus of _”You can’t make me!”_ , Junmyeon is so done. He’s like, completely over it. He’s ready to throw the towel in. Fuck the mattress. Fuck the bedframe.

Junmyeon doesn’t usually do it; it’s one of the responsibilities that Yifan had always been too happy to assume. But, well, things have to be flexible. Sometimes, Yifan works late.

“He won’t go to bed,” Junmyeon shoots his harried complaints into the phone. “He just—he keeps jumping on the mattress.”

He doesn’t know if the sounds of the springs will carry over for Yifan to hear, but he sincerely hopes that they do. This is the shit that he has to deal with, and all because the little brat doesn’t respect him. He swears that Yifan never has this much trouble getting the little munchkin to sleep.

“Have you read him a bedtime story?”

Junmyeon narrows his eyes. “No… should I have?” He spares a glance for Sehun, who is still wreaking havoc on the furniture. “Isn’t he five, or whatever? Too old for bedtime stories, right?”

“Junmyeon,” Yifan’s voice is impatient. “Even if he is, that doesn’t matter. He likes them, so just read him some stuff until he falls asleep.”

“Okay…” Junmyeon nods for a moment, before shaking himself as another thought strikes him. “Wait, what kind of bedtime stories should I read to him? What sort of stuff is appropriate for a five year-old?”

“Anything. You’ll figure it out,” Yifan says, and then he sighs deeply. He sounds very stressed. “Look, Junmyeon, I’m a little busy right now, yeah? There’s a discrepancy with our donors, and it’s probably going to take the rest of the day to clear it up. Can you just read him a bedtime story, and put him to bed? I swear I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life.”

Junmyeon bites his lips uncertainly.

-

Sehun has the blanket pulled up to his face, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Junmyeon is satisfied to note that the kid is enraptured by the story.

“S-so she came back as a ghost?” he stammers.

Junmyeon nod sagely. “Cathy couldn’t move on because she was a naughty girl,” he says seriously. “And if you don’t go to bed on time, she’ll come and get you. And you’ll be stuck with her forever, like all the other bad children.”

-

“What the _fuck_ did you read him? A Stephen King version of _Wuthering Heights_ or something?”

Junmyeon hesitates. “I may have taken some creative liberties,” he admits.

-

Sehun goes missing one day.

If Junmyeon’s being honest, it’s his fault. He’d volunteered to watch the little tyke after all, and _then_ he’d gone and capitulated to Sehun’s demands. They’d packed up a little picnic basket chock full of multigrain sandwiches, and gone to the park with the big slide.

And really, Junmyeon should have been paying more attention. But he’d been waiting on his assistant to call him to confirm a sale, so when said call finally comes in, he makes a mistake and lets it take up 110% of his attention.

An hour later, when the call is _finally_ over, Sehun is nowhere in sight.

He doesn’t panic at first, not right away. The park was a pretty big place, and there are dozens of alcoves and crannies for kids to stash themselves away in. He would know: the park has been there since his own childhood, after all.

But a cursory search doesn’t find Sehun anywhere in the park at all.

Another half-hour after that, and Junmyeon is in full-blown panic mode.

“ _Sehun_!” he calls, his voice hoarse and strident from so much yelling. He’s been shouting the kid’s name for the better part of the search, to no avail. If Sehun hears him, he’s choosing not to respond, which, what can he do about that exactly?

When another half-hour passes, and he’s gone _two full hours_ without seeing Sehun, Junmyeon caves and calls up Yifan.

It rings twice, and then is picked up. “Hello?”

“Please don’t hate me!” Junmyeon figures that jumping right onto the topic is best. “I’ve lost him,” he blurts, and he can feel his eyes watering _oh god_. Yifan’s going to hate him for losing Sehun, and Junmyeon is going to have to live with a missing child hanging over his conscience for the rest of his life.

“You’ve _what_?” Yifan’s voice goes up in pitch and in volume on the last word, a sure sign that he;s upset. “Jesus Christ, _Junmyeon_. How the fuck did you lose a child?”

His eyes were already watering, and he’s on the brink of crying fat, ugly tears. “I had an important phone call—” he starts.

“The fuck? That’s not a good excuse.” Yifan sounds angry now, very angry. “There’s nothing more important than your child.”

Junmyeon bristles at that, because it’s so _unfair_. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he says defensively, blinking back tears. He won’t let them fall, not when he’s this angry. “I did this for _you_.”

There’s silence on the other end, and one beat stretches into three, into many more.

Finally: “Stay where you are. I’m going to come help you look for him.” The words are clipped, cold, clinical. The call ends.

Junmyeon finally lets himself burst into tears.

-

They find Sehun two blocks down from the park.

“I was following the ice-cream man,” he explains cheerfully.

-

“Sehun’s parent-teacher conference is next week.”

It’s brought up casually, but the words make Junmyeon freeze anyway. “Do you want me to be there?” he asks carefully. He’s almost sure that this is a test. It _feels_ like a test.

If it is, he needs to pass it. After the park fiasco, he’s on thin ice with Yifan.

Yifan shakes his head, and takes a sip of coffee from his new _Number One Dad_ mug. “It’s fine. I know that you have work. I’ve already gotten Chanyeol to agree to watch Sehun; I’m going, you don’t have to go. I just thought that I’d let you know.”

Junmyeon hesitates, because it’s _tempting_. He doesn’t really want to go. At Sehun’s age, there’s not much academics to talk about, and the teacher will mostly be showing them rough art and bad cursive practice.

But…

“I’ll be there,” he says slowly, keeping an eye on Yifan to gauge his reaction.

And there isn’t one. Not overtly, anyway. But Junmyeon imagines that he can detect the faintest traces of a satisfied smile.

-

“You two are Sehun’s fathers? I’ve been _dying_ to meet you.”

Junmyeon looks a little uncomfortable under the teacher’s knowing gaze, so Yifan wraps an arm over his shoulder reassuringly.

He regrets the action almost immediately, because Junmyeon seizes up and turns into a marble statue. For a moment, Yifan almost fears that he’s crossed some kind of line—he’d intended it to be a sign of camaraderie, but perhaps Junmyeon had interpreted it as some sort of advance.

It turns out, however, that the fears are unfounded. After a moment of tenseness, Junmyeon relaxes, and even reaches up to grasp Yifan’s hand—hanging limply over his small shoulder—and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

The exchange has the teacher gushing. “My, isn’t this a cute display?”

The teacher is one Mr. Lu. He’s a young looking, feminine little thing. Doe-eyed and sparkly. He has the kind of face that gets birds to come down from trees to make dresses, mice to come through and do chores, and little kids to take their naps.

Yifan thinks that Junmyeon is prettier, personally.

“We are,” Junmyeon says diplomatically. “Sehun’s parents, I mean. It’s nice to meet you. I hope that he’s been behaving himself…?”

Mr. Lu beams. “Oh, he hasn’t been _that_ much trouble,” he assures them. “Nothing out of the ordinary for a kid his age. He’s really come a long way since the time you guys adopted him.”

Now _that’s_ what Yifan likes to hear. His life’s work—managing nonprofits, working at food drives, volunteering—it’s all about making a difference in the world. And to have proof that some of his efforts _are_ making a difference in someone’s life is immensely gratifying.

“Really?” Junmyeon sounds interested as well.

Mr. Lu nods sagely. “It’s pretty much accepted by developmental psychologists that the stability of family life can greatly impact the behaviors of children,” he explains. “Sehun is lucky that he has you two. It appears that you two love each other very much. That’s great, because Sehun is going to model his behaviors after you.”

Junmyeon and Yifan exchange glances. Neither of them put much stock into psychology, but this conversation was getting a tad ironic. And a bit alarming.

Mr. Lu prattles on, oblivious.

-

Things come to a head pretty quickly after that.

They’re riding home in the car. Junmyeon grips the steering wheel tightly, and Yifan keeps his head stubbornly angled toward the window of the passenger seat.

“Do you think he can tell?”

Yifan’s words are quiet, but to Junmyeon, they are as loud as church bells.

No need to ask what he’s talking about. It’s a question he’s asked himself: can Sehun sense that their home is not quite as whole as it appears to be?

Junmyeon grips his steering wheel tighter. “Why? Do you think that he can?”

Yifan shrugs. “Children have a way of knowing these kinds of things,” he responds.

It’s preternatural really. Whenever Junmyeon and Yifan fight—thankfully less commonplace, now that Sehun is around to witness them—the kid always seems to know what’s going on, and behave accordingly.

But there’s no sign that Sehun is at all aware of the ever-present rift between Yifan and Junmyeon.

Junmyeon laughs, and it sounds sharp to his ears, like nails down a chalkboard or forks across a dish. “How would he know,” he says, “When _I_ didn’t even know until you gave me the divorce papers?”

Yifan makes a scornful noise. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming,” he says, anger in his voice.

“I didn’t!” Junmyeon can’t drive and have this conversation at the same time, so he pulls over to the shoulder and parks. He levels a deep look at Yifan, trying to gauge what his husband is getting at. “I was completely blindsided! I thought that we were doing fine!”

The look on Yifan’s face is a stunned one. “B-but,” he stammers. “You were so put-together! You were calm! Y-you accepted it. You said you’d have your lawyer look them over.”

Junmyeon closes his eyes. So Yifan had thought that they had both wanted the divorce. Probably, he had made that assumption to assuage his guilt at leaving Junmyeon. Well, tough luck: he is going to get the truth.

“I’m not going to keep you in a marriage that you don’t want anymore,” Junmyeon says, and it hurts him to force the words out. Not like a sharp pain, but a dull, blunted one. His eyes water. “I love you.”

Yifan looks completely dumbfounded as he digests the words. Then, without preamble, he unbuckles his seatbelt, and leans over to plant a kiss on Junmyeon’s lips.

“We’ve been _so_ stupid,” he mutters. “I love you too.”

Junmyeon blinks the tears from his eyes, as the puzzle begins to piece itself together. “Y-you— I—”

The realization has dawned on them both. With hope beating in his chest, alive and well once more, Junmyeon pulls his husband— _his love, his soulmate, his co-parent_ —in, and kisses him again, more deeply than before. His fingers are trembling, or maybe all of him is, but that can’t compare to the trembling in his heart.

Yifan sits back down and buckles up his seatbelt again, before flashing a gummy smile. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go rescue Chanyeol from Sehun, yeah?”

They’re back on track now. They’re okay.


End file.
